


A Second Too Long

by colorfulcharades



Category: Thunderbolt Fantasy 東離劍遊紀 (TV)
Genre: Angst, Childhood Memories, Dreams and Nightmares, Flashbacks, Gen, Late Night Conversations, Mild Blood, Non-Chronological, Non-Graphic Violence, Reminiscing, Staring at the sky, idk - Freeform, sorry for any grammar mistakes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-22
Updated: 2018-08-22
Packaged: 2019-07-01 05:47:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15767856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/colorfulcharades/pseuds/colorfulcharades
Summary: In the gentle, soft moment of the last rays of sun, Juan remembers.He remembers the radiant smiles, the way he played outside all day long, the light that never seemed to dissapear, the dreams unbroken and the world of wonder that was laying, waiting for the boy so eager to explore.And most of all, he remembers the stories.





	A Second Too Long

**Author's Note:**

> So, hello everyone, this is my first work here. I really love Thunderbolt Fantasy but there unfortunately are not many fanfictions of it in English, and none of those two specific characters which I really love, so I wanted to change that.
> 
> Forgive me for grammar and spelling errors, forgive me in general, and I hope you enjoy.

 

 

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**_In the gentle, soft moment of the last rays of sun, Juan remembers._ **

****__  
He remembers the radiant smiles, the way he played outside all day long, the light that never seemed to dissapear, the dreams unbroken and the world of wonder that was laying, waiting for the boy so eager to explore.  
And most of all, he remembers the stories. 

 

 

 

*******

 

****

****

The last rays of warm, gentle sunlight were lighting up the land, setting rapidly, leaving their last mark upon the sky of warm tones before dying, abandoning this world for the day to allow the stars to breathe. In the distance, a flock of birds passes, black like the brushstrokes of ink upon a vibrantly colored canvas. Sensual warmth was dancing across his cheeks for the last time that day, and the slow breeze that gently stroked the locks of golden sunshine framing his face was making him relax involuntarily.   
Back in the sky, clouds the color of soft lilac were travelling, like carefree wanderers, across his line of sight.   
Scattered clouds, much like the ones his own name held. He wondered, briefly, if his parents were looking at this same scenery, the same sky of warm shades and setting sun, when they gave him the name he would know as his own.

 

  
  
In the gentle, soft moment of the last rays of sun, Juan remembers.  
He remembers the carefree days of the times gone too soon, the sensation of warm ground and delicate grass tickling his feet, the wind carressing the features of a child as he ran across the open field, chasing after the setting rays of precious light, round eyes of vibrant blue fixated on the same sky he was looking upon with nostalgia now. The feeling of unbound, eternal freedom, the way his very soul seemed to breathe in a world he has admired, a young head full of colors and sensations, too carefree, too far up in the clouds to see anything but dreams and beauty in the smallest things.

  
  
He remembers the radiant smiles, the way he played outside all day long, the light that never seemed to dissapear, the dreams unbroken and the world of wonder that was laying, waiting for the boy so eager to explore.  
And most of all, he remembers the stories, the lively tales of brave, daring heroes who fearlessly charged into the unknown. The stories that shaped his world, gave a breath of life to his dreams and opened his eyes to a goal he was going to chase and live out for the rest of his life.   
The stories that were full of optimistic, bravehearted people, known to all for their skills, willing to put their lives on the line for the sake of honor and righteousness. Juan dreamed, craved, to, one day, be just like all of them.  
In a flash of a second, the youth's thoughts wander to the one he has shared the thrill of the battle, the pain and the hardships, the times of joking and nights of drinking with. And for all the enemies defeated, for all the times he has spent beside the man, Shou Yun Xiao didn't seem like a person he heard about from the tales.

 

  
  
Juan admired the man to the sky itself, and followed him without a question, without a remark, everywhere the've gone together. However, not once has he discovered a kind smile of reassurance on his features, nor a loud, confident composure he had heard from the stories all too many times.  
In a sense, compared to the lively heroes of the tales he grew up listening, the older man seemed much like an apparition, a grey shadow that showed no mercy to his opponents, a person of few words and even fewer facial expressions to show.   
And his gaze was that of a dulled shade of red, intense in an unsettling way, much so that Juan couldn't be exposed to it without feeling the least bit uncomfortable. He tried to return the gaze with defiance and determination at first, confident, but found himself always averting his line of sight, unable to look at the man's single, remaining eye for more than a few moments at a time. It felt, he noticed uncomfortably, like a sharp, unforgiving arrow hellbent on piercing right through his very soul.  
And yet, despite the feeling of unease tearing through his nerves, curiosity tended to prevail inside his head at those heavy moments, and he wondered what kind of scar, what kind of painful, fleeting memory was the man hiding underneath his eyepatch.

  
  
Juan notes, in a distant second, that the man he admired as his sworn brother has never willingly shown him the scar before. The boy only caught short glances of it, in the times when the other man was undressing or sleeping, but it was enough for his throat to become dry with an unpleasant, bitter feeling he couldn't quite associate with anything. For all he saw, it was not a clean-cut mark, but rather, a large scar of jagged, unclear edges that he was pretty sure was inflicted in a fairly brutal manner. As far as he has seen, the rest of his body was scarred too, uneven shreds and marks of present days and times long passed, each one more painful than the rest and engraved in his tall form like a map, like the sentences of a book in the language an inexperienced boy like him couldn't quite understand.  
In all the tales he heard as a child, the great heroes admired those marks, wore them proudly as the signs of battles and the scars of righteous nobility, a reminder that they were worthy of surviving and a silent, ageless testament to their courageous deeds. Juan was seeing them as such too, as proofs of his battles, and was, in a strange, morbid way, proud of possessing them. Strangely, Shou didn't seem like he was thinking the same, like he was proud of the battles he fought and wounds he suffered for the sake of getting to where he was now.   
He didn't hear much of the other's past from him either, except for a short confirmation that he was, once, a soldier. It seemed to the boy, in a way, that he was avoiding talking about the subject altogether. At first, curiosity prompted him to try and ask, again and again, but upon the realization that Shou never let out any relevant information, Juan stopped asking questions, hoping that, one day, his brother will tell him everything without pressure and without inquiring. It seemed that whatever he had gone through, whatever horrors and sorrow he had seen, he wasn't ready nor willing to talk about.  
Still, the boy trusted him, admired him with everything he had, never once questioning his own resolve and decision to follow the man and make his own dream come true.

 

  
  
His line of thought ends too soon, however, as a shadow passes by in the corner of his vision, a sound of overlapping covers and someone sitting down on the sheets beside him, that quickly moved the youth away from the field of happy memories, back into the real world of a slowly approaching evening.

  
  
Upon hearing the soft noise, the boy turns his head away from the window, mind still plagued by the visions and vivid memories of the times he once knew as present. The room is saturated in red, the warm tone of the setting sun, and he could feel it's soft rays on his cheeks for the last time this day.  
The figure beside him is illuminated as well, sitting on the clean sheets in a simple robe that seemed too big for his form, a bandaged hand holding the covers in an uncharacteristically light, almost delicate grip.   
And yet, despite the radiant light of the slowly dying rays of warmth, his brother's face remains obscured in shadow.  
He sits quietly, like a statue, like a man deep in thought, shouldering a burden unbeknownst to anyone, and Juan takes an opportunity to notice everything in the quiet, slow moment, to memorize the gentle rise and fall of his chest, the way long, wavy strands overlapped, framing a face that he has never seen without a frown. The way his shoulders seemed much less broad, his posture much less imposing, without the heavy armor in the place of the robe he wore.   
It doesn't last long, as he raises a hand to his face.   
In a quick, nimble movement, he takes off his eyepatch, the long, bony fingers of an archer lingering on the scar where an eye of glaring crimson should have been, a moment too long for Juan not to notice. His long hair is obscuring his features, a wavy tide with the streaks of gray, and it's in that moment, Juan realizes, that the older man before him looked almost troubled, as if he was drained, tired. He wanted to say something, to ask if something was wrong, but the sheer captivation of this moment stopped any word from leaving the childish lips.  
He wonders, for a single, frozen second, what was it that passed through the other's mind in those moments.   
And then, almost as if he feels the younger man's curious gaze on himself, Shou jerks his hand away from his face, turning to Juan in a sharp movement, a glare of darkened crimson that he has seen all too many times. Observant. Questioning. He doesn't know how many times he has seen it, but not one time was he spared the feeling, the shiver of unpleasant cold that traveled down his spine. 

  
A voice passes through the heavy air, sharp as an arrow, cutting the silence between the two with pragmatic efficiency he could only associate with the person before him. 

 

  
"What's wrong, Can Yun?"

 

  
  
Strangely enough, the young man feels his heart drop to the pits of his being upon hearing the tone in which those words were spoken. Uncharacteristically, the archer's voice was usually a dismissive, authoritative tone that Juan gladly joked around with. But now, in a moment when the last rays of eternal warmth were abandoning the world in darkness, letting the moon see the ground, Shou's voice had a heavy tone that sounded unusually quiet. Weary, even. The young warrior feels a sudden urge to speak with the other, find out what was it that made him sound so exhausted, but figures that the lazy hour of reminiscing and blessed silence must have fogged up his senses, that he might be imagining things and, despite a growing desire to ask the other man if everything was alright, chose to keep his mouth shut. After all, this was a fairly rough day. They were both tired, and there was no need to ask nonsensical things and earn nothing but glances of dissaproval.

  
  
"Nothing" he utters, barely above a gentle whisper, and turns his gaze away to look at the slowly darkening sky once more. He hears the other move again, quietly, but chooses not to react, captivated by the way the stars slowly emerged on an endless ground of slowly darkening blue.  
  
  
Staring at the night sky, covered in stars, completely lost in thought and memories, he didn't even notice how much time has passed until the veil of exhaustion covered his senses and his eyes started closing on their own. Realizing that the night has gone silent long ago, he turns his head to look for his older companion.  
He finds him almost immediately, lying under the covers, still and quiet, his hair splayed on the sheets in a dissaray, framing the face of sharp angles and symmetric edges that was turned away from the boy, the moonlight falling onto his form in an gentle manner he could almost define as soothing.  
  
  
He is sleeping. Or at least, appears to be.   
  
  
Of all the times they have spent together, it was usually Juan that fell into the world of dreams first. More often than not, Shou stayed awake until the late hours of the night, sharpening new arrows to use, or repairing the tears in his armor, or doing various other different things that Juan was completely sure he would be better off doing during the day instead of night. And yet, every morning, the boy woke up to see him already awake. Often, in those moments, he wondered if the man ever had a proper sleep.

  
  
With a yawn, the boy with the hair of gold realized that the time for rest has approached long ago. Quietly, taking light, ginger steps around the room illuminated by moonlight, he finds his way under the warmth of the covers. As soon as his head comes into contact with the soft caress of the sheets below, he allows himself to relax as his consciousness carries him far, far away, into the surreal realm of the night.  


 

  
  
__________

 

  
  
  
A sudden feeling of unease jerks him awake, to the sound of nothing in particular, and his fogged mind, returning too soon from the blissful unconsciousness, tries to rrcognize his surroundings and get used to the dark that is everywhere around him. It takes a few long seconds of confusion and exhaustion, before he is finally back to the present time.

  
A distant thought passes, a one, fleeting moment, before he notices a looming shadow in the corner of his vision.  
He freezes in subconscious terror and heavy confusion.  
It takes him a second to recognize the shadow that belongs to his brother, sitting still, almost frozen in time.  
Another, to recover from sudden shock and calm down his beating heart.  
And yet another, to realize that something was definitely wrong.  
He doesn't move, for he doesn't know how the other would react to it. Instead, Juan lays still in bed, his limbs growing numb with a prominent feeling of dread, and watches his partner closely, silently.

 

  
  
It might be just his tired eyes playing tricks on him, but he could almost swear that he was seeing the man shivering.  
Through the loose robe, Juan sees his ribcage rising and falling rapidly, the outlines of his bones, of his scars, even more prominent in the shadow created by the soft, sleepy rays of moonlight, the archer's expression was showing, his posture tensed up in what must have been either fear or shock, though neither seemed characteristic or possible for him, with nowhere enough light for the youth to see what the archer's expression was showing. The distant sound of his breathing, though barely audible to the younger man's sleep-dulled senses, is ragged and harsh, and the tightly-wrapped bandages around his hand, once pristinely white, are stained in shades of vivid, burning red, his grip on the covers so tight his knuckles have turned pale, and he stares ahead with a wide-opened gaze that held no light of life within itself.

  
Juan sits up rapidly, concern flashing through him and reaching out to grab the other man's shoulder, to find out what was happening...  
Too late.

  
  
The second he notices the movement beside him, Shou turns around sharply, shoulders tensed in what must have been either shock or blind fury, and Juan feels his heart skip a beat in fearful surprise. He observes the man, quiet, frozen, and sees the usual frown in it's rightful place on his older brother's facial expression. But that same face is pale, colorless, and the ever-awereness of his gaze seems fogged up, not focused on anything in particular, his one remaining eye locked with Juan's own, the emptiness of dull vermillion clashing with the lively, vibrant blue for a second too long. The moment stretches endlessly, drowns Juan's mind in a heavy, anxious feeling that makes him shiver in the sudden cold of the air around him.  
Despite the tension welling up inside him in rapid succession, Juan manages to blurt out the words, trying to sound loud and clear despite his sleep-deprived mind.

 

  
  
"Brother Shou, what's wrong?"

 

  
In his groggy state fogged by exhaustion, he must have either imagined or he was uncharacteristically good at reading facial expressions, for he could have sworn the older man's gaze softened for a mere fraction of a second.  
Too soon, however, before he could find out if what he was seeing was genuine or not, Shou turned his head away, and his hair, like a shadowed veil, obscured his face in dark yet again.   
For a heavy fraction of time, he is silent. Before what must have been the realization of his surroundings dawns upon his head like a heavy downpour of rain.

 

  
"Nothing. Go back to sleep".

 

  
  
It takes him long, far too long to answer for the boy to believe his words. The cold, detached tone could only belong to a liar.   
If he didn't know better, Juan would have thought the person before him was slowly fading away.  
He feels the overwhelming need to speak up against the response, and, for the first time that evening, he doesn't restrain it.  


  
"You're lying! Please, tell me the truth. Maybe I could help-"

 

  
"Juan," he responds, more an exasperated sigh than anything, "I already told you. Nothing is wrong. I... thought I heard something, that's all".

 

  
  
His voice sounds more clear now, back to it's usual tone and with a good explanation. Still, he asks once more, as if to confirm that he heard well.

 

  
"Are you sure?"

  
  
"Yes. Now go back to sleep. You will be of no use if you're tired and slow tomorrow".

 

  
  
Accepting that his teacher had a point, Juan obediently lied back down, about to sink into the soft covers once more, when he spotted the other man standing up, heading to the door that led outside.

  
"You... You aren't sleeping, brother?"  
  
"I'll be outside for a while".

 

  
The golden haired boy yawns, feeling the gentle hands of dreams and rest pulling away his consciousness as his eyes start closing. This time, he doesn't protest it.  
With the last second before he falls asleep, he sees the other's back turned away from him, facing the door.   
And just like that, without sparing him a second glance, Shou Yun Xiao steps through the door into the cold, moonlit night, footsteps silent as the air of late evenings embraced by the darkness, as if he was never there, like an apparition, or a passing shadow. 

 

 

  
  
_________  


 

 

 

Compared to the heavy air of summer heat in broad daylight, the night was noticeably, unpleasantly chilly. The thin sleeping robe did nothing to protect him from the cold bite of the wind. And yet, as he sits still upon the floorboards, gaze focused on nothing in particular, he feels completely numb.

His dream is nothing but a distant feeling now, every memory of that which had plagued his mind mere minutes ago is dissapearing right in front of him. He doesn’t even remember much of it now. He can’t recall the words he was sure he’d heard, screamed into his ears like a lifelong curse, theirputrid meaning forever lost in the labyrinth that was his consciousness.He remembers only the cold, hard ground, the unforgiving screams and the burning, sinking sensation that made him feel sick.

 

 

And the blood. **_So much of it, of friends and foes and himself alike, a permanent stain on his trembling hands, on the ground, on the starless sky that was hiding the screams of sorrow._**

**_A sharp, heavy shocks of pain that crash over his skull and the fact that he can only see one half of the world. And a hand, weak and freezing, raised up to find only streams of blood and severed skin where he knew he once had an eye._ **

**_A scream, tearing through the sky of bright crimson, that he could only recognize as his own..._ **

****

 

Shaking his head, he let out an exhale he didn’t realize he was holding in. Sinking his head to his palm, he shut himself away, trying to stop a tired mind and give up to the feeling of cold wind sneaking through his robe.

A dream. Nothing but an unreal, senseless dream.

_How ridiculous it all was._

A scoff of dissapointment, aimed at himself. _Dreams._ How disgusting.

Long ago has he decided that he had enough of them, enough of fruitless hoping, enough of dreaming, having his head stuck in the clouds and unable to notice the painfully obvious reality of what was happening around him. And now, in the moments when he expected it the least, those images are, again, flashing through his line of sight. He doesn’t remember the last time he so foolishly let those memories give him trouble in what were supposed to be the moments of rest.

Still, he couldn’t deny the reality, the truth in the form of his heart thundering against his ribcage, his breath falling short and his senses dulling, the feeling of dread, heavy in his chest, that he couldn’t shut away no matter how much he hated it. How incredibly foolish he was, letting the weak sensations get the better of him like this.

With the feeling of his mind clearing up, Shou took a moment to glance at the night sky, devoid of clouds and dotted with the faint light of dying stars. An unchanging constant.

 

Another sleepless night, it seemed.

 

He exhales again, shakily, clouded gaze never breaking contact with the endless ground of universe. The wind is nothing but a sleepy breeze of cold now, and the embrace of darkness seems calm, strangely pleasant, the silence of the late hours ethereal, almost gentle in nature.

 

For a second too long, he seems lost in his thought, as the brighter shade of blue slowly emerges from the distant horizon.

 

 

 


End file.
